


baby make your move, step across the line

by gay_wristwatch



Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: Choking, F/F, Fluff, Hugs, Kissing, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, The Unsinkable Eight (The Wilds)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-24 08:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_wristwatch/pseuds/gay_wristwatch
Summary: “Well?”“'Well,' what?”“You going to show me what those fingers can do?”Five prompts from /r/fanfiction's trope bingo.
Relationships: Fatin Jadmani/Leah Rilke
Comments: 24
Kudos: 154
Collections: /r/FanFiction Trope Bingo Events





	1. come down and waste away with me

**Author's Note:**

> here's what we've got on the docket:
> 
> 1\. hot drink cure  
> 2\. romantic rain  
> 3\. choke holds  
> 4\. bear hug  
> 5\. "i can't believe i just said that"
> 
> these are gonna be fun. they'll be released as i finish them up as independent oneshots (should all be done within March). not necessarily going to keep to that order, but those 5 prompts are determined at this point.

If there’s one thing Leah knows about her and Fatin’s relationship on the island, it’s that Fatin is there for her—and it’s never the other way around. Fatin rarely, if ever, needs someone to calm her down or cheer her up, and since they’ve kind of gotten…close or whatever is happening, Leah hasn’t had the chance to return the favor for Fatin.

That’s a good thing, though, right? Leah can’t decide.

It’s not that she wants Fatin in a state where she needs comfort or anything, it’s just that Leah also figures that since they’re in hell, Fatin’s gotta need something some time. And hiding shit and stuffing down your feelings, even in hell, isn’t good—though Leah knows from experience that it’s fucking hard to be open or upfront in the right ways and the right times.

So she just…waits. Somehow Fatin can read her like a large-print book but it’s harder (much harder) for Leah to read Fatin. It’s a little bit infuriating, especially because she’s seen the way Dot seems to have a handle on it and Leah absolutely does not.

Not that she begrudges Fatin and Dot their friendship. Best-friendship, really. Leah’s not jealous.

She’s not.

It’s just…well, she doesn’t _want_ to reach in and really untangle the knot of feelings that she has when she thinks about her own friendship (friendship?—and the question mark that manifests every time she thinks that word regarding their _relationship_ is so fucking irritating, good God) with Fatin. Because of course they’re friends—it’s just they’ve gone from barely acquaintances to fighting to Fatin supporting her through like eight crises. Leah figures that sort of supercharged friendship track is “normal” when you spend practically every waking moment together trauma-bonding in a hellhole, but she’s not sure if the rest of what she’s feeling and refuses to untangle (though she can’t deny the knot itself is there) is just…friendship.

Leah’s lying in Fatin’s lap, because of course she is while she goes down this rabbit hole what feels like the hundredth time. Most of them are sitting around the fire (Shelby and Toni—have conspicuously gone elsewhere “individually.” Who do they really think they’re kidding?) She’s only half-listening to the meandering conversation between the girls, mostly caught up in the way that Fatin’s hands feel as they play with her hair, and ignoring (as if) the feeling of her thigh beneath Leah’s cheek and arms. And in her relatively relaxed state, she’s more tuned in to the wind and waves than the particular words moving through the air. No, Leah will not admit that she’s mostly tracking the conversation in some part of her mind only because she’s keyed into Fatin’s responses.

So she realizes that something is wrong by feel more than by the conversation itself. She can feel Fatin tense infinitesimally and it’s probably more than she would have gotten by looking at Fatin as she does it.

“Fucking true that,” Fatin mutters. The group had fallen quiet after whatever had upset Fatin. Her response makes Leah want to sit up and search her eyes, find out if she’s okay. She kind of feels like an idiot now, like this is what she gets for mostly ignoring everyone else. Fatin’s other leg starts to shake rhythmically, and her hand stops moving in Leah’s locks. Leah twists so she can look up at Fatin more easily.

Fatin looks down at her and Leah gets blasted with probably one of the best sights on the island: Fatin’s face, with nothing but the sky in the background. It’s not really sunset yet but the sky is starting to tint and shade in ways that suggest it’s happening soon. So Leah doesn’t say anything as they look at each other for a moment; Leah laid out in the sand and Fatin towering above her, looking down with an expression Leah can’t read. Typical.

But no—it’s too placid, and Fatin’s eyebrows are taut in the wrong places to suggest that she is fine, actually, and not hiding something. Leah wishes they were alone, not for the first time (has she been having dreams of them alone on the island, where the impossible happens? None of anyone’s business).

It’s only a couple of seconds, and then Dot’s voice cuts through their…check-in.

“Almost makes me happy there’s no one to miss me,” she says. “Well, no family, anyway.”

Fatin looks up at that. “I was gonna say, that Mateo guy definitely would. I bet you two are on some _Cast Away_ shit aren’t you?”

“Do not even joke about us being stuck here for four years,” Dot groans. Fatin cracks a dry smile.

\---- 

Later, when it’s actually past dusk and the sky is blackening, Fatin’s sitting pretty far away from the group staring at the waves. Leah’s pretty sure it’s an established pattern by now: that shit is not good. It’s practically a signal for “shitty emotional state” by now.

She approaches without thinking, then panics abruptly. What the fuck is she going to do? It’s the very event that she’s been waiting on—it’s _Fatin_ that needs someone, and it looks like it’s going to be Leah. Leah _wants_ it to be her. Does Fatin?

She’s been standing and staring over at Fatin for a while, now, and she’s jostled out of her thoughts by Dot of all people. “You should go talk to her. I don’t know what’s up, but she’s off,” she says.

Leah turns, looks at her, and Dot answers the question she was going to try to figure out how to ask. “Yeah, I tried, but I didn’t want to like, dig anything up or force her, you know? She cracked a couple jokes with me but…doesn’t look like that did much of anything. Deep emotional shit is more your scene anyway,” Dot says like it’s obvious—Leah guesses she’s got to give her that one—and turns away. The reply that most of them have had some “deep emotional shit” come out in different ways on this island comes to her mind too late to actually say it.

Whenever Leah was upset, more often than not, one of her parents would approach her room with a drink in hand to offer her. Like they needed an excuse (and well, with all her moody shit, Leah doesn’t blame them for being a little cautious with her). Leah’s moving to reheat one of their water bottles in an instant, and she’s gaining a little more understanding of her parents’ move when she realizes the security that having something in hand brings to her. And she hopes that though she can’t bring Fatin coffee or tea or a fucking hot toddy, the warmth will be comforting to her once she passes it off, too.

Without letting the water get too hot, she removes it from by the fire and casts a glance Fatin’s way before making her way over.

The whole thing starts to feel silly by the time she makes it to Fatin, but it’s too late to turn back now. Fatin looked back for a second when Leah got close; she can’t exactly hightail it back to camp after being found out.

She doesn’t say anything or ask before she sits; Leah figures that if Fatin didn’t tell her to fuck off (which she actually can’t imagine happening, after their mutual apology) when she first caught Leah, Fatin must be reasonably okay with her approach.

“There wouldn’t happen to be tequila in that bottle, would there?”

“It’s Patron,” Leah replies. After a beat, she continues somewhat lamely. “It’s just…hot water. It’s for you, if you want it. We’re fresh out of tea bags, so…” It sounds so fucking dumb now, Leah almost wants to toss it into the sand and act like it was all a joke.

Fatin turns and looks at her for a few seconds. Leah always feels like with each passing second this woman looks at her, layers of her self are being peeled back and Fatin just sees…her.

Leah hopes Fatin knows she wants to see Fatin, too, tries to be leagues more fair and honest than she’d been to her before the island and before they apologized to each other.

She should probably tell her that at some point.

But right now, Leah just holds out the bottle for Fatin to take, and stays silent while she waits to see if Fatin is going to say anything. She’s inordinately relieved when Fatin takes the bottle with a small smirk, eventually, and Leah averts her eyes while Fatin takes a few sips. She already knows Fatin probably looks like a model in a commercial, and she doesn’t need to encourage the feelings that’ll spring up from seeing Fatin’s lips and throat working subtly to take in the water. All in moonlight to boot.

“Not to steal your schtick, but…it’s weird that Barbie and I are the only ones with siblings that _aren’t_ here,” Fatin starts.

Leah nods, and she can’t believe she hadn’t noticed that part already. Part of being an only child, she guesses. She doesn’t say any of that though, supposing that Fatin’s not really done yet. She does turn and look at her for a moment, though. And then, in case the gesture will make things easier for Fatin, she moves her eyes back to the moonlit waves ahead.

“It’s just—Toni’s basically only got Martha, right? And they’re here together. And Nora and Rachel. And Dot’s alone. And you’re an only child.” Fatin breathes and pulls her knees up to hug them to herself. It’s a little cold, and Leah takes the chance to move closer until they’re touching.

It’s something like a full minute until Fatin says anything again.

“Like, parents aside…my brothers probably think I’m fucking dead…or they’re starting to.”

Shit. That’s fucking tragic and Leah’s not sure if she should say so. She’s thought about her parents, wondered what they’re doing in her absence, wondered how their schools and friends and classmates are dealing…but she hadn’t thought about that angle. Everyone she knows is older or her age, and it’s a different animal to think about disappearing from a loved one’s life when they’re so young.

When, with time, depending on how young they are…they won’t remember you the same way older people would.

Leah takes a different angle, a simpler one. “I—I’m sorry, Fatin.” And she stuffs down the totality of her suspicions surrounding their circumstances here and adds, for the sake of hollow optimism: “It’s feels like it’s been…literally forever in this hellhole but…there’s still hope we’ll be rescued. Hasn’t even been a full month.”

Fatin doesn’t respond for a while, staring down at her “drink” and sipping intermittently.

“Listen to you,” she says, her voice halfway between mournful and teasing, somehow. “I know that’s not what you really think.” Fatin’s eyes zero in on her even in the darkness. They’re a little watery, yet startlingly clear.

“I’m trying to be like, not an insane downer,” Leah mutters, looking down at the sand and all its shades of grey. Her hand defaults to playing with it; the texture is an endless and minutely soothing distraction. “And for what it’s worth, they probably miss you like fucking crazy. They love you, for sure.” Leah’s never met them or even seen them—and for reasons that are clear now, Fatin hadn’t spoken about them much here (Leah figures most of them think about the people back home, but they’ve done a great job of skirting around them in conversation). But how could it not be true?

“There you go again. Maybe Martha’s rubbing off on some of us,” Fatin says. Her eyes take on what looks to Leah like a spark of fondness and she reaches out to push lightly at Leah’s shoulder. “Thanks.” 

Leah sends Fatin a small smile.

“You know what I miss right now though?”

“Alcohol?” Leah almost says “dick,” but she doesn’t even want to go there. There’s like a 70% chance Fatin will correct her and say that anyway.

“That’s a given. I mean my cello though.” Leah gives her a questioning glance. “Yeah, I know. It’s complicated. But here it’d just be for me, I could play like, at my leisure and shit. No pressure. And cello can be pretty perfect for like, being in your feelings. Ask me how I know.”

Leah doesn’t, but she does chuckle a little. The atmosphere shifts into something a little less melancholy gradually as they fall into trading things they miss as they come to mind. The weight of being dead, or at least dying, to the world is still very real, but it eases when Fatin ends up leaning over until she’s resting _her_ head in Leah’s lap. And then Leah can’t think of anything but Fatin and the thumping of her heart when Fatin latches onto Leah’s hand with her own, all without a word during a break in the conversation.

She learns Fatin has been dying for this one particular roll at her favorite sushi place, and they wonder together how they haven’t managed to catch any fish. Leah doesn’t talk about how she’s missed her mom, but she mentions how much she misses listening to her favorite bands. A couple of days ago, she’d realized she was missing a show she’d bought tickets to months ago. 

Leah’s into reading and she’s read books that just blow her away with the manner in which they describe moments and feelings—but she doesn’t think anyone could get this one down. Every time one of them makes the other laugh softly, her heart fills with something she can’t describe. Their tones, hushed by the night, manage to make their words feel that much more precious. She’s inadvertently memorizing all of Fatin’s answers. 

On top of all that, her skin is making incendiary contact with Fatin’s in the cool night air. Leah knows she’s probably still the World’s Most Open Book through Fatin’s eyes when she tries to play it cool and bring her other hand up to play in Fatin’s hair. Fatin’s eyes close when she makes contact. There’s a lull in the conversation presently, so they sit that way and breathe together.

“Keep that up and I bet my dry spell’ll come to a screeching halt,” Fatin says after a time. Fatin had shifted not long ago and Leah had grown a little bold, adjusting her hand to stroke at Fatin’s hairline.

She freezes for a second, debating whether to keep going or not at light speed because fuck, she doesn’t want Fatin to get the wrong idea.

…Which means she has no real choice here.

Leah starts back up again, and she can feel Fatin’s face stretching into a smile. Her eyes open back up and meet Leah’s immediately, and there’s a live wire in their connected gaze.

“Well?”

“‘Well,’ what?”

“You going to show me what those fingers can do?”

“Oh my God,” Leah says, hoping playing this familiar angle will throw Fatin off her scent. But she smiles through it and she knows Fatin’s still watching her.

Leah knows without thinking that she’s never really felt quite like this for a friend.

“That’s not a no,” Fatin observes. “But I could definitely go for this, too.” She adjusts herself in Leah’s lap again, and Leah realizes more of Fatin’s weight is on her when she settles this time than before.


	2. the first time that you kissed me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a reminder these aren't connected. i present: romantic rain

Leah’s lying in the sand with her head in Shelby’s lap, rotating between staring at the sand, the sky, and the fire. Something had gotten Shelby singing, and with the woeful lack of actual music on the island (they were all in some stage of streaming withdrawal) most of the others present were actually listening or starting some songs themselves, albeit much less skillfully than Shelby.

Rachel makes the mistake of saying “at least she isn’t on some country kick,” and immediately, Shelby switches from Charlie Puth to…hell if Leah knows, but it’s definitely country.

Nearly everyone groans and Shelby’s barely able to keep it up through her laughter, and Fatin’s on her feet after a few seconds likely spent praying Shelby will stop.

She’s standing over Leah, holding her hands out for her. “I’m here to save you,” Fatin deadpans. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Leah pushes off of Shelby, who seems to be devolving into some kind of delirium as she closes her eyes, lifts her chin, and belts a vocal run, embellishing the song further. “I would ask, but I don’t think I care where we’re going. Take me,” Leah says, as Fatin drags her up. Those last words come out right as she surges up to Fatin, and they’re still grasping each other’s hands as Leah watches Fatin’s face shift into a smirk.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Leah fake-sighs and lets Fatin drag her away from camp by the hand. Fatin waves a dismissive hand back at the others when Rachel shouts to ask where they’re going (“you can’t leave us here like this!”).

Shelby’s still going, and Fatin picks up speed until she and Leah are half-jogging through the sand, still attached by the hand, grinning.

They slow after several seconds, almost out of earshot, though the waves are probably helping with that. Their hands separate and Leah tries to ignore the sensation of emptiness that accompanies the change. Fatin’s back soon, though—after a moment of silence, she takes Leah’s elbow as they walk.

She’s trying to think of something to say but Fatin breaks the silence before her. In a slightly different circumstance, Leah would settle into the silence and just walk with Fatin, someone she can actually have those all-important comfortable silences with--but that’s too stereotypically romantic to let happen, she thinks. Even if it sounds…nice, even in the face of the “ _walks on the beach_ ” stereotypes. And without a conversation, she’ll start daydreaming.

Surprisingly, it’s not a joke or flirty comment. “You cool to just…walk for a while? I feel like we just stay by camp or go to the waterfall over and over, it’s starting to drive me crazy.”

“Sure.” Leah looks over as she says it, wondering at how Fatin actually wanted the same thing she did, but didn’t think was really in the cards. She catches Fatin’s eye and the honesty of her expression. Not that Fatin fakes much of anything, but Leah’s starting to notice how she is when she’s not flirting or joking much at a given moment, when she’s kind of just being an unadorned version of herself (which, naturally, is still as engaging and alluring as any other mood or facet of her personality). Every time she sees it she wants more, especially when it’s just the two of them. Leah knows that if she lets herself imagine what more of this Fatin, or even how Fatin would be in more vulnerable, private scenarios, would be like…she probably won’t be able to stop herself from doing something stupid.

It’s weird because being on the island with such a small group has led to a much more intimate understanding of everyone so much more quickly than Leah would’ve guessed. She’s seen a huge range of moods and reactions from all of these girls—and god knows they’ve gotten the same from her—something as simple as a moment with Fatin shouldn’t feel like something she wants to hide away and cherish. But it does.

She has some of those moments with everyone else individually, and in various groupings, and all together, but her moments with Fatin are just…something else.

So Leah savors the silence between them. She hasn’t acclimated to the pressure of where Fatin’s holding her elbow yet, like they were strolling down a city street instead of this island in the middle of fucking nowhere. She’s also got no idea how long they’ve been walking when she looks up to the clouds in the sky and realizes that there seem to be many more than…whenever the last time she looked up was (back at camp).

Fatin sighs beside her and Leah’s attention is drawn away from the changing tableau overhead.

“You alright?”

“Absolutely,” Fatin says, and, well…Leah thinks she knows what she means. She’s as “alright” as one can be in their situation. Fatin does seem to hold it together better than most of their group, even without the cheerful optimism that colors Martha and Shelby’s outlooks. “You?”

“Yeah,” Leah rasps. “Place is a hellhole, but it’s a pretty one,” she adds. It is, in isolated moments like this, if she’s in the mood to recognize the beauty.

Right then, as if the sky were waiting for her words, the deluge begins. Like a switch—with only a few seconds of sporadic drops to serve as a brief warning—it starts pouring rain.

“Shit!” Leah says, just as Fatin lets loose some of her own more colorful and elaborate profanity. The rain is kind of loud, too, so they’re half-shouting out of surprise and necessity. Leah’s not even wearing that cardigan she has. They stand there on the sand, under the now-grey sky, in shock for a few seconds, and then Fatin gestures over to the treeline, yells “over there!” and they take off.

Finding a cave right when they need one would be wonderful and serendipitous, so of course they don’t. There’s basically no real shelter, only variance in the thickness of the leaves overhead, so after floundering for a while they pick what looks like the least-soaked spot and huddle close together.

Leah wipes her wet face with her wet hands and wet clothes, then blinks her vision clear and opens her arms and draws Fatin into a sort of side-hug without thinking. Fatin turns and looks at her, and _shit_ , maybe she shouldn’t have done that. Fatin just grins, though, and shifts closer.

“Always thought I’d be the one holding you,” she jokes, eyes back on Leah.

“Funny how things work out.” Fatin’s comments are confusing as always, even though that one was fairly innocent.

There are still droplets coming through the canopy above them, but at least it isn’t the blindingly thick downpour out on the beach. They sit and catch their breath—at least, Leah still is—for some time before Fatin turns to Leah and seems to really take stock of their position. They’re crouching, but Leah’s probably not going to be able to keep that up. At least she’s wearing jeans….which are also wet. Leah sits back, committing to actually sitting on the ground. Fatin shifts more in response, fitting one leg around Leah’s body and threading other under Leah’s knee like some kind of wonky pretzel, and Leah’s breath hitches. Fatin lifts one hand to smooth some of Leah’s hair back and smiles faintly. 

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?” Fatin’s hand lands on Leah’s shoulder as she says it. 

“With our luck this is the start of monsoon season or some shit,” Leah says, distracted, but the joke falls because her tone isn’t right. How could it be with Fatin on top of her, touching her, looking at her? _Considering_ her?

Leah reaches one hand farther behind her back and tries to lean away a little, to get away from the overwhelming stimulus that is Fatin Jadmani.

Fatin fucking follows her and she ends up closer than before. “ _Fuck_ ,” Leah breathes without meaning to. It’s quiet, but she’s sure that Fatin heard her. And even if she didn’t, there’s no word that Fatin’s more likely to be able to read on anyone’s lips. Especially from people she’s on top of.

“How about a kiss first?” Fatin’s eyes lock back on hers. Leah swallows, but she can’t look away from Fatin’s eyes, not even when her hand comes back up to touch Leah’s face this time, cradling her jaw.

They do break away to look at Fatin’s lips for a split second before Fatin’s leaning down and touching her lips to Leah’s. It’s not a surprise when it happens, but a thrill runs down Leah’s spine. The rest of the world dims and fades and it’s just the weight of Fatin on top of Leah, the pressure of their kiss, and the desire to perpetuate the moment as long as possible.

It’s a gentle kiss—god, it’s almost chaste for a few seconds, as much as the word clashes with everything that is Fatin—then Fatin breaks away and pulls back to look Leah in the eyes. It’s like she’s checking in, which fills Leah’s heart with something warm. Then they’re back to kissing, but this time it’s both soft and heated and it’s almost enough to make Leah forget they’re both soaking wet on the rainforest floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: [gaywristwatch](https://gaywristwatch.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thank you for reading! hope you guys enjoyed this one, i loved hearing what you thought of the first :)


	3. you stay on my mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's for "choke holds." didn't end up being smut, but it's still sexual.

The game of Never Have I Ever they played on their first night does not end up being their last. It’s day whatever-the-fuck, and Fatin finds herself in another game around the campfire again. Maybe there’s something about campfires that sparks this shit. Either way, they’re out of fun substances to make the game have any sort of stakes, so Fatin wonders how this is even going to work.

This time, they run through a few lighter questions before getting to the good stuff. Toni doesn’t demand they skip the inane questions this time, Fatin notices. Whatever transformation she had seems to have been pretty effective. With no alcohol and no raunchiness, this is basically just a game of reverse-conversation starters…which is fine.

After gawking at Dot’s response to “never have I ever started a fire,” Rachel speaks up.

“Never have I ever…uh, been to a concert.”

Nora doesn’t move, and neither does Martha. All of the rest of them drink, Fatin included. She’s counting playing concerts, but she’s also been saddled with the requirement of going to classmates’ recitals (those count, right?), and on top of all that, her lifestyle can have its perks. She’s tossed back in time for a moment, thinking of the couple of festivals she’s gotten tickets to not even because of her money, but because she’s Fatin fucking Jadmani, and sometimes dumb college boys have tickets worth taking when offered.

As predicted (and fucking finally), someone asks a sex question. Well, it’s not technically necessarily a sex question, but that’s basically the only way to look at it as far as Fatin’s concerned.

“Never have I ever been tied up,” Dot says. Fatin’s eyebrows go up, but she drinks. No one is surprised, apparently, but she isn’t too shocked to see she’s the only one. Bummer.

“That can be arranged, Dorothy,” Fatin says, leering over in Dot’s direction.

“Who said I wanted it?”

“I mean, you did ask that out of nowhere—“ Shelby says, and it doesn’t escape Fatin’s notice that she hasn’t tried to shut down the conversation yet. Fatin’s mildly proud of the changes her and Toni have gone through, but she’s also mostly jealous as she looks between the two of them. Yeah, it’s not just unresolved sexual tension anymore; there are orgasms happening there.

“Whatever,” Dot mutters.

“Whenever you’re ready, honey,” Fatin says, lavishing a soothing lilt all over her tone. Dot settles for an eye roll this time, knowing that if she sends a middle finger Fatin’s way that’ll only encourage her.

Toni’s rough voice comes through across the crackling fire next. 

“Never have I ever been spanked—like as a kink thing.” Fatin hates that the clarification is necessary, but she does her duty and drinks, wishing with each sip it were something other than plain water. Her kingdom for one fucking refill of that vodka.

When she lowers the bottle from her face, everyone’s staring at her. “What? It’s pretty common,” Fatin says.

“Whatever you say, Fatin,” Toni says, teasing.

“I can’t believe I’m being kink-shamed and it isn’t even my kink,” Fatin says, gesturing for effect.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, before you get into your actual kinks,” Rachel says.

“Please, I know you all want every sordid detail.”

“Moving on…”

“No, hold on. She’s not wrong. What’s the craziest thing you’ve done in bed? I can’t believe you haven’t just like, volunteered that already actually,” Toni says, smirking over at Fatin. 

“I mean, depends what you mean by craziest, but I’ll tell you…to each their own thing, but the only time I was actually like ‘you’re fucking crazy’ was when this dude tried to choke me like out of nowhere. Exactly as scary as it sounds.” Fatin looks at the faces around the fire as she talks, delving into some of the details and feeling like she’s in the middle of some fucked up version of a scary campfire story. “But yeah, terrifying. Not that I wouldn’t try it, like, for real—and safely—just not as a surprise. _That_ sounds hot, actually.”

Fatin knows how to tell a story, even a short one like that, so she looks around her audience while she speaks. Her eyes land on Leah when she’s done…and that’s when she sees it.

That look Leah levels her with sometimes, when she’s not just glancing Fatin’s way, but actually like…taking her in. Fatin doesn’t look away but Leah does, and Fatin’s positive Leah’s blushing all while fighting it as hard as she can.

Fatin feels like she’s morphing into the confused math lady meme as the conversation continues around the fire, but it’s not because she doesn’t know what might be happening on a basic level. Something about the talk got to Leah, it’s just a little unclear what exactly did.

Like she knows the answer that’s…well, it’s probably a stereotype, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be the truth. Fatin also knows that letting her mind run from the current situation into the entertaining of fantasies of any of this shit with her tall, dark, beautiful friend is probably a huge mistake when she has no way to get an orgasm out of it right now.

With a sigh, and wishing more than ever Shelby could turn this water into _at least_ wine, Fatin shifts her focus back to reality, where Shelby is visibly red even in the dark as she ventures a more innocent question.

* * *

Fatin ends up on water duty the next day and groans when she finds out. Leah basically immediately offers to come with her instead of Shelby (who instantly cheers back up once the deal is made. It’s so damn obvious, Fatin wonders if _anyone_ doesn’t know Shelby and Toni have some kind of thing going on. She also wonders when Shelby will feel safe with them). She’s pretty sure she sees Rachel roll her eyes at the whole interaction.

It’s a bummer to have to lug a bunch of water back to camp, but at least she’s with someone she can complain with.

“We need to get some kind of big water vessel instead of this shit,” Fatin says. The clinking of the metal water bottles is threatening to actually drive her insane, and she’s been living in the middle of the ocean for a month.

“I know I should’ve taken that basket weaving elective,” Leah says from behind her.

There was no basket weaving elective, and the fact that Leah’s in good, sarcastic spirits makes Fatin smile back at her.

“Or just like, pottery.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on the clay and the kiln and the glaze.” Leah says, like she’d keep listing shit if she knew any more about pottery.

“Would be a hell of a lot better than like 12 little clinking motherfucking bottles,” Fatin grumbles. Leah comes closer and tugs on the bag of bottles. Fatin stop, turns, and is forced to deal with how pretty Leah manages to be even on this god-forsaken island. The rays of sunlight are cutting across her _just so_ , it's ridiculous.

“I’ll hold it,” she says, looking down at Fatin. Her hand is still on the bag, which forced her a little closer to Fatin when she turned around. Leah’s arm marks the short distance between them. Aware they’ve just been…taking each other in from like a foot away for what probably counts as too long, Fatin smiles up at Leah as she slips the bag off, holding eye contact.

“My hero,” Fatin says, smirking as she watches Leah move to put the bag on. They start walking again once Leah’s ready.

* * *

They make it to the waterfall and, well, it’s always nice to be here. It reminds Fatin of what she did for the group. It kind of feels like hers in a way.

An idea strikes Fatin and she sends a look over to Leah, who’s preoccupied with dutifully removing the bottles from the bag.

“Up for a swim?” Fatin’s peeling off her top without waiting for an answer, and she knows she’s probably making Leah blush, but that’s where the fun is. 

She sends Leah a smile as she bends to take off her bottoms. She’s still clothed, which is probably the only reason Leah’s even still looking at her. Fatin doesn’t miss the quick up-and-down she gets from Leah, even after so much time on the island in varying states of undress around each other.

“Uh, sure, after we fill these. Like, just on principle, I’d rather do it before we dunk our bodies in there.” Leah’s already started as Fatin walks over to help; her gaze is a little too intently focused on the water and the bottles.

Fatin crouches next to her and wonders a little about the tension she feels between the two of them. Fatin knows Leah’s hot, suspects she’s into girls—or maybe just into Fatin? It’s not just wishful thinking, whatever’s going on between them. So Fatin jokes and flirts, and she tries to signal that she’s actually completely available for whatever Leah might want to do with her in private. And if Leah’s maybe a little shy about it, or cautious, or whatever, Fatin’s completely okay with putting herself out there a little.

She can admit that she likes Leah after all; it’s a shame they didn’t know each other really before all of this.

Fatin fills most of the other bottles and Leah seems to be floundering while she does the task. She’s still crouching next to Fatin for basically no reason, and when Fatin looks up, it’s right into Leah’s eyes (and what a wonderful sight to be surprised by). She smiles without thinking about it or trying, and damn if Leah’s return smile doesn’t spark something in her chest.

Leah’s just cute, is all.

(And funny, and gorgeous, and smart—)

Fuck. Fatin stands and starts toward the water.

“Coming?” Fatin chirps, wading into the water after capping the rest of the bottles with Leah while the Leah stood quietly. What she wouldn’t give sometimes to know exactly what Leah was thinking, even though she could almost always read her to some extent. Leah gives her a soft affirmative in that rough voice that sometimes drives Fatin crazy with how hot it is, how much she’d like to make Leah cry out, hear how she sounds when she’s losing it from overwhelming pleasure as opposed to despair or desperation. 

Fatin knows she can only blame so much of that desire to her own dearth of orgasms.

By the time Fatin turns to see if Leah’s really coming, Leah’s in the water with her.

Leah’s a little more quiet today, but Fatin’s pretty sure she’s mostly okay. Nevertheless, of course, she’s a little curious—she also kind of wants to know if it has to do with last night.

Fatin shoves the curiosity away again and again as they just swim in close proximity for a while, trading little comments here and there. (There isn’t any way to just like, ask something like that, not that Fatin would if there were. _“Hey, so I get the feeling you’re into choking! Or is it just breath play?”_ That’s a little far, even for Fatin. She’s fielded more than her share of sick questions from rando guys. And apparently just asking for the wrong persons sign doesn’t go over well on this island.)

“I’d kill for a speaker and Spotify right now,” Fatin says.

Leah hums. “I shudder to think what you might play on it,” she teases.

Fatin gasps. “Straight bangers, Rilke. What would you play? You won’t like my guesses.”

“Oh, well I have to hear them now. Shoot,” Leah jeers, swimming closer with a grin.

“Please. You definitely listen to shit like—what’s that old band white people like? …Fleetwood Mac! Like entire albums at a time,” Fatin says, rolling her eyes for effect. She knows from the shocked look on Leah’s face that she’s at least partially right. She’s cracking up as Leah splashes water into her face in retaliation.

“How the fuck—“ Leah breathes. She gives up on the sentence for a while, unable to stop from joining Fatin in her joy. “How do you do that?” she asks when they’ve mostly calmed down. Fatin’s clutching at Leah’s shoulder for support, half-incapacitated by the reaction to her guess and its accuracy.

And now they’re coming back to reality face to face, watching each other from barely six inches away. Fatin’s going to go nuts if she keeps ending up like this with Leah. She dares to bring herself a little closer. 

“I don’t know,” Fatin says. It’s not that crazy a guess, really, though it’s not like she’s some practiced cold-reader. “It just felt right.” She closes the distance separating Leah almost completely, but they aren’t quite touching yet. Leah keeps looking down at her lips, and Fatin brings her hand to rest on Leah’s neck. Her thumb finds Leah’s pounding pulse point, and Leah’s minute gasp stops short when they both lean in to kiss.

Fatin walks them backwards to the shore a lot less smoothly than she’d like, but that doesn’t really phase her—she’s finally kissing Leah Rilke (a thought she would have never thought would come to mind back in California). She ends up on top of Leah (who half-crawls backward to a decent spot without taking her eyes off Fatin, and somehow even that is crazy hot) and when she brings her hand back up around Leah’s neck, loosely, she pulls away when she feels that same hitch.

Fatin picks up the thread from…it must have been a few minutes ago by now. She hopes Leah follows, which is a little bit of a far cry judging by the look on her face. Fatin figures she’s safe now that they’ve crossed a line. “Though you might as well have told me straight up that you might like this,” she says. She moves her hand down to just above Leah’s chest, and squeezes minutely for a second—just for emphasis. There’s no way they’ll go there anytime soon.

She watches Leah swallow before she laughs a little, maybe at herself. “It’s—God. It’s your fucking hands,” Leah admits in a rush. Fatin moves on to explore Leah’s collarbone lightly and Leah’s eyes close. “I guess I don’t have a problem with being an open book if I end up like this.”

Fatin can agree with that, but she doesn’t get a chance to reply—Leah made sure her mouth was occupied as soon as she finished talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first (and only?) chapter from Fatin's perspective, which was a struggle! i don't even know if i'm happy with how i wrote this, but i knew i had to give her a shot at some point. plus, this prompt felt tricky just on its own.
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading--i'd love to know what you thought about it :)


End file.
